


The Games we Play

by stopwatch_plz (immiscibility)



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: I love the UST, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Shit, this pairing broke my almost year-long writer's block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immiscibility/pseuds/stopwatch_plz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer break spent at Brakebills can be boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Games we Play

"I don't think I've ever met anyone so utterly _dreadful_ at pool."

Quentin looked up at Eliot, who was perched artistically on the pool table with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of '89 Californian Zinfandel in the other, and stuck out his tongue. The wine had long since gone to his head and his sobriety had apparently run off with his hand-eye coordination.

Not that there was anything better to do. During the long summer break at Brakebills they had gone through almost all possible activities to stave off boredom - including sitting on the Lawn and trying to manipulate the clouds which had resulted in them getting completely drenched in the middle of a beautiful summer's day -  and ended up back at the normal, everyday things they would do with the rest of the Physical Kids during term. Eliot had spent one day locked in the kitchen cooking what he described as 'a culinary masterpiece' but, in reality, had ended up with them eating a weird combination of medium-rare ribeye steaks served with a bag of Doritos that Eliot had found in the cupboard, along with a forgotten bottle of aged Port which was the reason for their rather eclectic menu.

With a deep breath, Quentin set up his next shot but it was difficult to focus when the balls had their own spectral shadow, like he was watching it on an old, battered VHS. He slid the cue through his left hand and bent forward to line up the shot. As he tried to do so, he heard a muttered "Oh, for God's sake," but didn't have time to process it before he was hauled upright by strong hands around his waist and shoulder and suddenly Eliot was behind him.

"You have the worst form _ever_. I literally can't watch you anymore."

His voice was soft in Quentin's ear, laced with more than a hint of disdain, and his surprise was tempered by the other feelings that suddenly made themselves clear. Quentin managed to keep his awkwardness about the physical contact under control, until he felt Eliot press his tall, lean frame against him.

"You need to caress the _shaft_..." Eliot grabbed his left hand and slid his palm down the body of the cue, placing his fingers in the right hold. Eliot's fingers were wrapped around his and he could feel the other boy's chin resting on his shoulder, their cheeks almost touching. The heat from their closeness was distracting, but Quentin tried to keep focussed as Eliot continued. "Then pull back with your other hand and _spread your legs_..." Somehow Eliot had managed to wrap his ridiculously long legs around Quentin's and pushed them apart, not by much - only a few feet - but by this point Eliot was practically plastered against him, and Quentin had totally lost interest in playing pool and was far more interested by the pressure against the back of his waist which, he thought, seemed to be growing harder by the second. "Then _bend over_ to sight your shot" - Quentin was bent over the table with Eliot dominating him completely - "pull back your cue" - his right hand was manoeuvred into place - "and shoot!" He inhaled sharply as the shot connected and instinctively tilted his head back, which Eliot took full advantage of and brushed his face against his throat very gently, his fine stubble rasping against his skin.  
  
The balls on the table connected with a loud _crack_ and Quentin imagined the ones in his pants did too as Eliot guided the shot with a rather enthusiastic hip thrust.  "Finally!" Eliot cried as one of the reds sailed merrily into the pocket, and he stood up.

Quentin really shouldn't have felt a pang of disappointment at the sudden abandonment; but he did. And, of course, he tried to convince it was anything other than what it was as he tried to get his traitorous heart rate under control.

"I'm so glad you were here to show me how to handle a cue. However would I have coped without you?"

Eliot looked over his shoulder at him, glass of wine back in his hand and a dark flush in his cheeks. "Well, I'm glad I was here to help then! Alas, it is time for me to retire to bed - mustn't miss out on my beauty sleep" - he grabbed what was left of the bottle of wine - "but I want you to know that if you need other, well, _assistance_ , with any other activity, I'm sure I can help." He gave Quentin a sly grin, his eyes dancing with mischief, as he turned towards the staircase. As he put his foot on the first step he paused and tilted his head up, almost as if he were talking to someone invisible.

"I think this has been my most favourite day of the summer so far."

 

 


End file.
